


Best Fucking View

by Malu_3 (Grainne)



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dubious Morality, Exhibitionism, Exploration, First Times, Incest fantasies, Multi, Objectification, POV Bisexual Character, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tavern Tales, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-10 00:59:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3270878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grainne/pseuds/Malu_3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Maybe Arthur wants an excuse to slide into the desk behind the new boy, drag it up until he can loom good and close, get a solid whiff of him...</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"If you're so desperate to see live tits, big man, come to mine after," he whispers. "When Father's away, my sister and her friends go topless around the pool."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Fucking View

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written as comment fic for [Tavern Tales](http://tavern-tales.livejournal.com/) January 2015 theme [Childhood Friends, Siblings, Besties](http://tavern-tales.livejournal.com/9538.html)
> 
> Thanks to all who read and commented there and to all the beautiful tavern peeps for encouraging my habit!
> 
> Incest fantasies involve Arthur and his older half-sister.

"So what're you in for, big man?"

Arthur knows, of course, it's all over the school, but he wants to hear the new boy say it, see if he's really got balls or is already shitting his pants with regrets, rehearsing what he's going to tell mummy and daddy.

Maybe he wants an excuse to slide into the desk behind him as well, drag it up until he can loom good and close behind one of the kid's tragic ears, get a solid whiff of him – today's pool chlorine and peppermint gum over a blazer that needs washing, maybe once hung out in a room with someone who knows someone who smokes weed.

"Piss off." The boy hunches forward, away from Arthur.

"Aw, don't be like that. I'm only – " Arthur shuts up and leans back as Mr Alined comes in to call roll. The man's a bully and a creep, always looks at Arthur in a way that reminds him of a toad sizing up a juicy fly.

"Ah, Mister Pendragon," he says when he gets to the back half of the alphabet, peering up from his tablet. "Arthur. Fighting on school grounds, I presume?"

Shit. He's going to make a thing of it. Arthur slumps in his chair. 

"No sir."

"Surely not persistent tardiness or…fraternization?"

The new boy's head stays down but he's clearly listening, could hardly miss Alined leering in their direction.

"Contraband, sir."

"Ah." Alined makes it into about six syllables. "Well, I won't enquire as to the exact _nature_ of the items in question, but I should remind you that this is your second such offence since term started. Do it again and I'll be forced to have a chat with your father."

"Yes, sir," Arthur mumbles, slumping further down. 

The new boy's now sitting up ramrod straight, one knee jigging nervously until he quells it with a hand. After two more names, he snaps off a quick "Here, sir" to Alined's "Wyllt, Merlin," like if he does it fast enough Alined will move on and no one will stare, which is dumb, because Arthur could tell him there's no one left in the room after W and – _duh_ – he almost succeeded in drilling a spyhole through the wall of a supply closet into the girls' showers. Pretty fucking epic for a new boy.

"And I see you'll be joining us all week. Well, well, I trust you're as handy with that pen as you are with a drill, Mister Wyllt. What worlds we shall reveal together!"

"Creep," Merlin mutters when Alined turns his back and Arthur does not – does absolutely not – let that cheer him up.

He finishes his essay in twenty minutes, spends the next fifteen alternately gouging fresh horrors into the Hello Kitty stickers Morgana's pasted inside his comp book cover and being intensely aware of – and thus irritated by – the back of Merlin's neck. 

There's this scruffy lick of hair, just a finger-span, perfect for tugging, plus a few chocolate freckles. But mostly it's just really long and really _blank_ and weirdly sexual in that geisha way Leon was trying to explain the other day, but not in the least bit meek or girly or whatever and it's just _there_ every time Arthur looks up. 

So. 

When Alined slips back into his office to take a call, Arthur lunges forward, gives that neck a firm poke with the business end of his biro, adding a freckle all his own, bright and oily blue.

Merlin startles, whipping his head to the side, but he doesn't turn around. 

"What?" 

"If you're so desperate to see live tits, big man, come to mine after," Arthur whispers, lips mere inches from the blue freckle, going cross-eyed trying to focus on it. "When Father's away, my sister and her friends go topless around the pool."

* * *

Arthur can't quite figure him out. Merlin doesn't seem to want to talk about where he came from, doesn't brag about the hot girls, the this and the that – all the dumb shit he got up to at his old school – like other new boys do. He doesn't try and suck up to Arthur like other new boys do, doesn't even seem particularly keen on talking about his prank.

No, though he gets animated talking about nicking the drill from the caretaker's shed and all the weird shit he'd seen in there, he mostly just nods and hums along with Arthur's run-down of Albion's scene, paying way too much attention to Arthur himself – downright staring, at times – without ever seeming to really give a fuck what he's talking about.

When they reach the house Arthur surreptitiously checks his face and teeth in the hall mirror, but no, there's nothing gross there. No splodge of mustard, green bits or spots ripe for squeezing.

"Beer?" he says, slinging down his bag and shrugging off his blazer, hanging it on peg.

"Sure." Merlin follows suit, even hangs his blazer on the same peg, _over_ Arthur's, which is… Well, Arthur doesn't know if it's rude, because there's crap on most of the other pegs, but it makes his face feel all hot. 

He leads the way through to the kitchen, tries to look like he's not checking out the way Merlin's checking out all the soulless showroom crap Pendragon money can buy. He's got big eyes for it, but, same as on the way over, they keep sliding back to Arthur himself, sticking. 

Arthur figures it must be some parental nonsense Merlin's had drilled into him about making eye contact, because otherwise it's just… Not that he minds it, exactly, but it's giving him that hot, buzzy, anticipatory feeling without knowing what _for_ , and that's gonna get old real fast.

He loads Merlin up with cans, grabs a few bags of crisps. 

"This way," he says. "Up here."

He has a proper key now, so he can take care of the orchids when his father's away.

"Whoa, shit, this is your room?"

Arthur laughs because, seriously, who would ever think that? "Yeah, and I sleep on the desk in my money suit."

"Well… " Merlin unloads the cans onto the desk, making his big eyes at the flatscreen and banks of shelving, the gas fire – complete with andirons and fake logs – and leather sofa suite. "No, but, reckon you'd do alright on them. Twice the size of mine." 

He rubs at the back of his neck self-consciously. Arthur wants to slap his hand away so he won't rub off the blue freckle. He likes the idea of Merlin carrying it home with him after, to his sad little bed. After…

Tits. _Morgana's_ tits. Right. Arthur probably shouldn't have said that – he doesn't know Merlin at all. But they're here now, aren't they? He can hardly just say hey, no, only fucking with you; I really just wanted to hang out in my father's study, get pissed like two old geezers, maybe play a bit of backgammon.

"Er, so, why – " Merlin's staring again.

"For the view. Down here, big man. Crack 'em open." Arthur dumps the snacks on the floor behind Uther's desk, fetches several cushions from the sofas, sprawls out on his belly. Here, the back wall is made entirely of glass, covered by vertical blinds. Arthur twitches one aside, peers down at the pool and patio.

"Now we wait," he says as Merlin settles beside him, copies his gesture. "Cheers."

They clink cans. A little foam escapes and sloshes over Merlin's knuckles; he trades the can to his left hand and sucks at them, just a quick pull and lap of the tongue before it drips onto the cushion below.

"Sorry," Merlin mumbles, and Arthur's realises he's the one staring now.

* * *

They don’t have long to wait. It's been a hot September, still plenty of pool weather packed into it. Mithian turns up first, sauntering over from next door in a white vest and micro-shorts with a pitcher of sangria. 

"Mithian. Neighbour," Arthur says, wondering if he should explain the rest. "Practically family."

Mithian wastes no time fetching glasses from the patio kitchen and setting the lot out on a shaded table. Then she kicks off her wedges and dives in, starts swimming laps in a steady crawl, the wet shorts clinging to her arse like a second skin.

"Good form," Merlin comments.

Arthur snorts, takes a swig of his beer.

"I'm serious."

"You a swimmer then?" Arthur eyes him up sidewise, deciding Merlin might actually be hiding one of those long, lean fish-boy physiques beneath his ill-fitting uniform.

"Used to be." 

"Aha." Nailed it. And now Arthur's so busy thinking speedos and shaved _everything_ he misses Mithian hauling herself out of the pool, doesn't properly appreciate the glory of her dark rocket nipples punching out the front of her wet vest, the way she tugs her shorts out of her cunt and arse-crack before flopping on the double chaise. 

"There a story in there, Wyllt?"

"Nah." Slow sip from his can, quick glance over at Arthur. "Not today, anyway." His face is punching-pretty, with curvy lips and long dark lashes, like Morgana's. They make Arthur think of mascara, butterfly kisses – all sorts of other shit boys don't normally make him think about. Much. 

"Look, Arthur, I – " 

There's a bright shout from outside, a burst of voices, the patio sound system thumping to life. Arthur nudges Merlin's shoulder. Little too hard, maybe. Maybe not hard enough.

"Here we go," he says.

Morgana and her crew shed their shirts, then bras or bikini tops. Long hair pulled up or pulled aside. Lotion rubbed into skin in that way women have, like their hands are getting off on it and don't care if anyone knows. Drinks poured, spots claimed, Arthur's uniform feeling too warm, too tight. Half-wishing he could take his shirt off, too. 

"See, what did I tell you?"

"Yeah, that's… Wow."

"Better than wow, mate. That's an all-inclusive buffet of prime tit. Something for every man." 

It's what Gwaine had said, and Arthur figures it must be true. Elena's are huge, pendulous and pink-tipped, while Gwen's are perfect golden-brown handfuls. Vivian's are fake; Sophia's are wonky; Morgause's are pert and Mithian's are barely there, mostly lean muscle beneath those fantastic nips. 

Then there are Morgana's, which Arthur probably shouldn't think about, but does, because they're still tits, even if they're attached to someone he's related to – and bloody marvellous tits at that.

"Which one's your sister?"

"Her, Morgana," Arthur says, nodding in her direction, but of course that's stupid, as Merlin can't very well know who he's nodding at, not from up here. "Dark hair, green panties," he adds, blushing at the feel of the words in his mouth. He tosses back a handful of crisps, a slug of beer.

"Huh. I would have guessed the chubby blonde one."

"Excuse you?" Arthur pauses with his hand heading back towards the crisp bag. "I'm a three-sport athlete."

"No, not… " Merlin nudges the bag's opening toward him, cracks a smile. "Chubby tits, I meant, and not in a bad way." He peers through the blinds, looks back at Arthur, fucking _studying_ him with those sticky, pretty eyes. 

"Wow, yeah, night and day. Never have guessed. Adopted?"

"Half-sister, actually, so it's…" He stops himself before he says any of it aloud, the shit he tells himself. 

Like, that it's not at all weird that he does this, right? It's not like he specifically gets off on watching his specific sister naked; it's just that she's the woman who's been around the most, and they shared a connecting bathroom for five very formative – for Arthur – years, and Morgana is fucking stunning. Sometimes it's hard to ignore her tits, or not think about the things that he's seen her do to her girlfriends in the shower, is all. 

Especially when he's got his dick in his hand.

"She know you do this?"

"Huh? Oh, not… I mean, she knows they can be seen from up here, that I've done it in the past." Shit shit shit. Now Merlin thinks he's a perv. "Um, once. Gwaine's idea. You know Gwaine?" 

"Where do you think I got the keycode to the shed?"

Savvy, then, as well as bold. Impressed, Arthur salutes him with his can.

"So, Morgana…" He's not letting it drop. "She wasn't pissed?"

Arthur shrugs. "Nah. Not really. Said so long as no one was filming or, you know, live-Tweeting it."

Merlin laughs, a low rumbly thing that bounces the cushion below. "Holy shit. Can you imagine?"

"Yeah, like… " Arthur clears his throat. "Lads, grab your best hashtag wank-socks. Things heating up poolside at mlefaycray's hashtag tittybuffet."

Merlin loses it, collapsing into the cushion, can held aloft. He's shaking with laughter. Arthur gets a glimpse of the blue freckle – smudged, but still there – before he resurfaces for air and a swallow of beer. Long, full throat working it down, face all pink and creased around his smile.

Arthur's so busy congratulating himself on having made that happen he's not prepared for the quick shimmy and flip, Merlin suddenly propped on his side, facing him – so busy scrambling for what to say next, to keep it going, he doesn't see the toe sneaking out. It catches him on the hip. Solid nudge. 

"So…" Merlin says.

"What're you kicking me for?" 

"That what you and Gwaine do then? Come up here and wank over your sister's tits?"

" _Half_ -sister's, and _no,_ I didn't… I mean, yeah, but not over Morgana's… shut up." Arthur drains his can, glares at Merlin. "Seriously, shut up."

Still smiling, Merlin sets his can down, opens another and passes it to Arthur. "Sorry."

"No you're not."

"Am too, a bit, but…" He shrugs, smile fading until damn if he isn't doing that shy eyelash thing. "Mostly I don't care. I mean, it's no big deal if you do… did. I get it. She's hot and off-limits – who can resist the idea of that?"

Eyes up, looking right at Arthur now, foot still resting against Arthur's hip. Nudge nudge.

"Yeah, well," Arthur says. Swallows. Necks beer from the fresh can. Nudge nudge against his hip, rocking it. And shit, he's gonna get hard if that keeps up, is – double shit – halfway there from thinking it. 

He wonders if Merlin is, even sneaks a glance, but there's no telling between the shadows and angle of his limbs, the half-untucked shirt. And there, that's done it, thinking about finding a bulge down there, what it would mean if Merlin's still looking at him and not at the scene below.

Cock surging in his pants, an uncomfortable mash-up with trousers and the edge of a cushion. Wanting to move but not daring. Deep fucking breaths and eyes back on the window.

"Which one's your favourite?" he says. 

The warm pressure of Merlin's foot disappears; he makes a noncommittal sound.

"Come on, big man. Don't be mysterious. Surely you see something you like?"

There's a pause – an indrawn breath – during which Arthur doesn’t dare look over, keeps his eyes fixed on the obscene splay of Elena's tits, on Gwen and Sophia wading into the pool, bellies and nipples contracting as they meet the cool water. On Morgana, arms stretched above her head, securing her hair with an elastic. On Mithian, who's turned her head to watch.

"Yes," Merlin says at last – low, hesitant – and Arthur doesn't need to look to know that Merlin's still staring at him, doesn't know what to do next but drink. Swallow. Drink some more.

Gwaine had made it so easy, face mashed against the glass, fishing his cock right out where Arthur could see it but practically ignoring him in favour of enthusing over all the licking squeezing titty-fucking he wanted to get up to with Morgana and her mates. Saying, "Should I not tell you how much I want to come on your sister's tits? Because I do. I really do. Want to fucking paint those beauties and lick it all off, want her to _make_ me."

Not thinking about it too much, just going with it. And after, everything casual. Best wank in ages, mate, let's ring for pizza and go over the match footage, see how we can tear those Saxon boys a new one.

"Arthur?"

"Hm?" Drink. Swallow. Two cans down. Everyone but Morgana and Mithian are in the pool now, tits bobbing everywhere. Tits, tits, tits. Morgana and Mithian on the double chaise, heads close together, and surely they wouldn't, not where Morgause could see them.

"If she knows you might watch, she must know you might… I mean, you're only human, right?" 

Merlin's closer. Seems like he is, anyways, looming in Arthur's peripheral vision, and yes, he is only human. He grunts his assent.

"Well, maybe she likes that – likes knowing she's giving her little brother a good show."

Fucking hell. Merlin can't know, he _can't,_ but that doesn't stop the words from sweeping whatever blood's left in Arthur's brain down to his cock, leaving him short of breath and poised on that remembered knife edge, wondering if the bathroom door would be left open on his side tonight, just a crack, a slim finger of light beckoning – daring, ever since he'd first walked in on her fucking Mithian up against the shower stall.

" _Merlin._ " It comes out more desperate than Arthur would like, not a warning at all. And shit, they _are_ – Morgana licking at Mithian's lips before claiming them, Mithian's cupping Morgana's breast, fingers feathering back and forth across her nipple. Tweaking. Tugging.

" 'Cause I would, if I were her," Merlin says quietly, oblivious to what's going on outside. "I'd like knowing that I was helping to… to take care of you."

When Arthur feels the nudge again he doesn't think, just reacts – needing to move, to relieve the pressure somehow – half-shifting onto his side. He hears Merlin's whispered, "Oh, oh _fuck_ yes that's…" in the second before he clocks that it's not his foot this time, but his _hand._

He tears his eyes from the window. "What the – " 

"Shh, please, just let me..." Merlin with his eyes lowered, hand frozen where it had been fumbling with Arthur's zip. "Look out the window and pretend, alright? Whoever you want – all of them, even, one after the other. I'll make it good." 

Fingers trembling now, wrist pressed against the root of Arthur's cock, biting his lip and wincing like Arthur might actually say no. Like he even remembers that's a possibility when what he's really thinking is…

"Why?" he says, meaning why on earth should he need to pretend when the reality is shaping up to be so fucking brilliant. He reaches for his belt flap, yanks the hook from the bar and drags the zip down the rest of the way, shifting his hips so the angle's better.

"I want to." Together they negotiate freeing his stubborn, too-hard dick from his stubborn, too-tight y-fronts.

"No, I mean…" But then Merlin's hand is on him and Arthur loses all thoughts except how fucking hot it looks, how incredible it feels. Someone else's hand. _Merlin's_ hand. A hand that bloody well knows what it's doing, is attached to a body with a dick that's probably hard, too, and maybe he should…

Merlin looks up, catches Arthur's fish-mouth stare, the hesitant movement of his hand. He gives a firm twist that has Arthur bucking helplessly.

"Look out the window," he murmurs. "Go on."

"But don't you…?" He twitches the slat aside once more, sees that the kiss has grown deeper, that Morgana's rolled onto her side and taken hold of Mithian's wrist. He can't tell who's pushing and who's resisting, but Mithian's hand is headed down, between Morgana's thighs. Suddenly Mithian breaks the kiss, ducks her head and sucks one of Morgana's fat nipples into her mouth.

" _Fuck,_ Merlin, c'mere. I think they're going to… If you shift up a bit, we could both – "

"Rather do this."

With no warning Merlin shifts down, grip almost painful on Arthur's shaft until his hand's joined by his mouth, and then… 

Fuck. _Fuck._ Warm wet pressure pleasure tongue and lips working just the tip of his cock, mouthing at it like a sweet, licking, then sucking so hard that when Arthur looks he can see Merlin's nostrils flare and his cheeks dimple in.

"Shit… _ah_ ," Arthur says, all on a long, drawn-out exhale that feels like it might be his last because his lungs have packed it in, too. He's living, breathing through his cock now; through his cock and his eyes – he doesn't know where he wants to look more – but it's not the worst dilemma to have, and so long as this is really happening and Merlin never stops, he'll be…

Merlin pulls off. 

"What? No, don't… Merlin, _please_ – "

"Shh, 's okay. Just gotta – " He breaks off with a hiss, and it takes Arthur far too long to realise that Merlin's only stopped to get his own cock out. Flash of pale belly, boldly striped pants and a fistful of darker flesh punching through the circle of fingers and thumb, then Merlin's pitching forward, on him again. He fumbles for Arthur's shaft with his left hand, fucking swallows the rest down, breath coming in a choked-off whine – _"...ngh…ngh…ngh"_ – as he starts sucking in time to his own wanking rhythm.

Arthur scrabbles for something to hold, something to distract him – drag and burn of carpet, pounding the floor, muted crunch as scattered crisps get ground in. In the shit with his father if he can't get it clean but who the fuck cares? Small price to pay for the brilliance that is the new boy getting off on blowing him, ten-thousand per cent all in, shameless and messy and therefore hotter than anything Arthur's seen online.

When he thinks he can bear it he peeks out the window, sees that Morgana's starring in her own porno as well. She's arching her back, her tits doing the heave and roll as Mithian licks, then rubs her face between them, her entire hand now inside the green panties, and Arthur doesn't need to see to know how wet his sister's cunt gets, how she'll soak the whole crotch of her panties through – make them all bunched and sticky – and if Morgause hasn't noticed what's going on by now, she will the instant Morgana stands up. Probably the whole point of the display.

Arthur closes his eyes, listens to Merlin's steady " _…ngh…ngh…ngh,"_ thinks of the back of his neck, hunched over a desk, of that glimpse of pale belly and pretty smile, of Mithian kneeling between Morgana's legs, dutifully sucking off the hot pink strap-on, her wrists bound behind her, of the way it had felt in his mouth the next day when he'd raided her room, odd and choking and horrible-tasting and still he'd got so goddamn hard. 

He doesn't know entirely what to make of it, never has – which parts he wants to be, which to do, which are just for wanking – but _this,_ he knows he wants more of this. Doesn't want it to be easy after all. Doesn't want it to be easy, after…

"Merlin?" He braces one hand on the nearest surface – the window, mashed between two slats of the blinds – and gropes for Merlin's hair with the other. 

There's a moment when Arthur thinks the spell's broken, that it's all about to go to shit, then Merlin's butting his head into Arthur's hand and Arthur's gripping it, squeezing all the muscles in his groin tight, fucking the slick, firm cavern of Merlin's throat.

"Damn you're… _shit._ So good. You good?"

Merlin can't speak, of course, but he makes this sound from deep in his throat, deep in his chest, and Arthur's cock knows what it means even if his brain doesn't: Don't you dare stop, you fucking arse, or I'll end you.

Arthur wishes his trousers were off so he could hook his leg over Merlin's back, hold him that way at least, let him know he's just as far gone. He settles for running his hand down the back of Merlin's head as far as he can reach, curling his fingers in that neck fringe, extending them to rub against the nap of all the fine fuzz, thinking about those freckles, the brown and the blue, all the other marks he wants to make. Someday. Soon. Right fucking now and Sundays, too.

"Close," he says, groin tightening. "I'm gonna…" He starts to lift his hand but suddenly Merlin's clapping it back in place, must have let go of his own cock to do so, and Arthur's in no shape to argue. But at least he can…

"Look at me," he pants. "Merlin, c'mon. Up here. Look at… _ah._ Yeah. That's it." 

Big eyes. Sticky eyes. That cliff Arthur's been worried about falling over. Best fucking view in the house.

Tries to tell him but only gets out one breathless, "You…" before his balls are giving it up, all the outrageous tension and spark turned to everyday spunk, dying in hot inches, in pulses of come fucked down Merlin's throat.

And it _is_ a bit of a death – Lance's precious French aren't wrong about that. Everything he's been living for suddenly gone, drained out his dick. Long moments without a scrap of joined-up thought or the will to move. 

Merlin's not helping any. He's _literally_ gagging for it, telling Arthur he tastes disgusting even as he chases down every dribble, every last trace. Licks his own hand. Arthur's belly. The damp crotch of Arthur's pants over his poor, spent balls.

But when Merlin stops his dirty kitten routine and settles in to finish himself off, Arthur finds strength enough to grab his shoulder, say, "No." 

"No?" Merlin's voice is all wrecked, raspy. "Fuck you, I – "

"No, fuck you because _I_ want to do that. So get your arse up here."

"What?" Gormless face, all flushed, the whole area around his mouth tacky with spit and come. But he comes when Arthur tugs on his shoulder, does a sort of dry-land flutterkick that lands them nearly eye-to-eye.

"Unless I'm only hot if I'm off-limits?" Arthur says, far braver than he feels, channelling the bossy fly-half. And he'd mainly been thinking to get his hand on Merlin's cock without having to move, maybe even let him have a look at what he'd been missing down on the patio, but now that they're here with Merlin's foul cock-breath underscoring all that pretty, he doesn’t hesitate.

"Fuck no," Merlin whispers, eyes zeroing in on Arthur's mouth. 

Arthur grabs the front of his shirt and kisses him. Come and spit, lager and crisps, tongue and lips and teeth and ridiculously, animal _good._

He keeps at it, even though it means fumbling for Merlin's prick, not being able to keep up any sort of coordinated rhythm. Merlin grabs his face and goes all-out tongue assault, starts that throat-whining like he was doing around Arthur's cock, and if it was hot then, it's hotter like this, the sound pushed into his mouth along with Merlin's breath, the feel of the meat in his hand jerking back for a second before pushing, pushing, _straining_ and spurting, feeling a little of that warmth spilling down on his wrist and his own wilted prick.

* * *

"You missed quite a show," Arthur says when they finally manage a break from the kissing. It’s long after either of their cocks have been involved in the proceedings, long enough that Arthur's forced to admit it's a thing in its own right. A fourth sport right there, snogging the new boy, and Arthur's decided he's the only one allowed on the team.

"Morgana's ex- and on-again just got her off in the chaise, and now her current girlfriend's about to throw down or join in – never can tell with Morgause – and I think the rest are trying to drown their eyes, either in the pool or the drink. It's like a soap."

"Your sister… wait, she's _gay_?"

"And what the fuck if she is?"

"Arthur, no, it's not… Look, I have a confession."

"Oh?" Arthur focuses back on Merlin, wonders what can possibly come next unless they're _actually_ living a soap. 

"The girls' locker room. I wasn't… Thought I was drilling into the boys' side."

" _No._ "

Merlin grimaces, nods.

"Fucking perv!" Arthur says, delighted. Then, "Hang on, so you have zero interest in lady tits?"

"None, sorry." Merlin shakes his head, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Not even your hot sister's lesbian – "

"Stop!" Arthur makes a grab for his wrist. He's just remembered.

"What?"

He palms the back of Merlin's neck, curls it in close, inspecting. The freckle's only a smudge now, an oily bluish-grey smear.

"That one's mine," he says, already working out what he can do to get himself detention for the rest of the week without risking a phone call to his father. What he can do to get Merlin in with his mates and keep him out of trouble, make sure Albion's his last stop, that he won't be the new boy anywhere else.

"Excuse you?"

"My freckle," Arthur says, and touches it with the tip of his tongue.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Morgana Le Fay's Cray Tittybuffet (The Second Best Fucking View Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3567983) by [agirlnamedtruth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agirlnamedtruth/pseuds/agirlnamedtruth)




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